


Acquisitions, Interrogations, and Other Imperial Specialties

by bluspirits



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Aftermath - Chuck Wendig
Genre: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 09:17:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16595123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluspirits/pseuds/bluspirits
Summary: "What's your name, soldier?"Sinjir Rath Velus meets Boba Fett in a bar. It's a very enjoyable meeting for both of them.





	Acquisitions, Interrogations, and Other Imperial Specialties

**Author's Note:**

> I'm here to bring you what might be the rarest of all star wars rarepairs, what is basically an excuse to make my two favorite star wars character talk and then kiss. I have simple tastes. Don't @ me about Boba Fett being dead or not mandalorian or whatever, canon is fake and nothing matters. (I can't believe I wrote this. I live content in the fact that no one will read it)
> 
> the alcohol abuse tag is simply a product of Sinjir existing and drinking within the work, your mileage may vary there, but I thought it was worth warning for. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The Rancor's Kiss is not the worst bar Sinjir has ever been in. Sure, the name leaves something to be desired, and there's just a little too much hunting related decor for him, but it's cleaner than most, and the drinks get you drunk, which is really the most important thing. And then, there's the other thing. The thing that bumps this place up on Sinjir's comprehensive, very extensive rating system of bars, cantinas, and drinking holes in all corners of Imperial space.

The best feature is the other customers. One customer in particular. Not that Sinjir doesn't love listening to an old twi-lek regale him with tales of his wild days as a terrorist youth.

But the real draw is the man at the other end of the bar.

The man who looks like a soldier. And not like the mindless grunts in white Sinjir sees wandering the halls every day, not like any random stormtrooper. No, if he was anything, he was a commando. Sinjir would guess that he fought in the Clone Wars, but he looks almost 15 years too young for that. He’s got skin just a one or two shades lighter than Sinjir’s, and dark curly hair shaved close to his head. His gray shirt doesn’t have sleeves, and his hunched position over the bartop lets Sinjir see his wonderful biceps and the curve of his broad shoulders. There are scars littered down those wonderful arms. Several deep slices and at least one mark from a blaster bolt. If he was closer, Sinjir could probably pick out what gun it was that did that. He's good with injuries.

He throws back another gulp of his drink and squints at the soldier's profile, because the more he looks at him, the more he's sure he's seen this guy somewhere before. It’s not a bad kind of memory though, he’s never met this man at work, so he continues to watch. 

The soldier simply stares straight ahead at the rainbow array of bottles on the wall behind the bar, like he’s been doing all night, and takes a slow sip from whatever’s in the glass he’s been nursing. 

Sinjir waves at the bartender, who refills his glass without a word. Sinjir nods in thanks, then takes one more sip of his drink for a little more courage. He takes a long, deep breath, then slides up next to the man, leaning one elbow on the bar. “What’s your name, soldier?”

The man smiles, just a little, a twitch of his lips so small he thinks he might be imagining it, and his head turns an inch or so towards Sinjir. He glances at him out of the corner of his eyes.

“I’m not a soldier,” his voice rattles through Sinjir, running down his spine and making him shiver. 

He frowns. He’s very good at reading people, considering it is half of his job. “Really? Cause you sure have the look for it.”

“And what look is that?”

A sharp smile creeps over Sinjir’s face, and the numerous drinks he's had dropkick their way right through his brain to mouth filter. “Like you could crush me between your thighs.”

He looks down at the man’s legs on the bar stool and decides he stands by that assessment. The man raises a single eyebrow just a fraction. Then he turns to face Sinjir fully, which he counts as a win. “Is that a request?”

“Is that an offer?” He really really hopes it is. He shivers just a little more.

“Sinjir Rath Velus,” he says, and sticks out his hand.

The not a soldier nods in greeting, but doesn’t take the offered hand. “Boba.”

Sinjir likes to think that he's fairly observant, even when not entirely sober, and he notices the incredibly obvious lack of last name. So they’re doing it that way then. Alright. He grins. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

“No. I’ve just got one of those faces,” the man says, with a smile Sinjir thinks has a slightly bitter twist to it. “I’d remember you if we had.”

“Is that a complement?”

Boba looks him up and down, and Sinjir can’t tell if it’s a come on or some kind of threat assessment. He shrugs slightly, with only one shoulder. “Yeah.”

“Then thanks,” Sinjir says, leaning forward and setting his drink on the bar. He steps forward and rests both palms on the counter with his face turned towards Boba. “So, what do you do?”

“I work in acquisitions.” There's a bit of smile on his face as he says this, like it's a particularly good inside joke. Sinjir doesn't get it.

“That sounds like a very official euphemism.” A euphemism which could mean many things, from working in the commissary unloading boxes, to kidnapping enemies of the Empire. Sinjir thinks in this case it’s something closer to the latter. But you never know.

“You?” Boba asks, leaving Sinjir to ponder the word acquisitions with no other information.

“I work in loyalty.”

“Is _that _a euphemism?” Boba asks, and he laughs just a little, just for a single second. An actual real laugh that is enough to make warmth run down Sinjir’s spine. Is this what love feels like? Or maybe deep deep lust. Either way, Sinjir is in deep already. And he’s only had three drinks so far. That must be a new record.__

____

____

He realizes there was a question in there that needed an answer a second too late, and scrambles to make his brain work again. “No, not a euphemism. I’m a loyalty officer."

Boba nods, and looks Sinjir up and down one more time, but it's different this time around. There's a brief spike of fear down his spine, as he remembers why he doesn't do this. Doesn't get comfortably buzzed and attempt to flirt with men in bars in Imperial space. Because he can't be trusted, because he is his job, always on duty, and when people realize that, that's it for the fun. Or the talking. Or looking at each other. 

People are scared of Sinjir, and he doesn't think the man in front of him is scared of anything, but maybe he's wrong. He hopes he's not. 

"Quite a job," Boba says simply, and points at Sinjir's empty drink, sitting lonely and cold on the bar. "Can I get you another drink?"

He laughs just a little, nervousness leaking from his system. This man is gorgeous and dumb enough to not care about drinking with a loyalty officer. He really is the whole package. "I think that would put us on uneven footing," he says, with a slightly shaky wave of his hand at Boba's half full drink. 

Boba nods. "Smart."

"Besides, I can think of something else you could do for me," he takes a single step closer, near enough that the backs of his knuckles brush against Boba's thigh. So that his breath on the other man's face makes it pretty clear what he's asking for. He can see Boba's lashes come down as he blinks slowly, considering, Sinjir hopes.

“And what’s that?”

“I thought you were smart.” he takes a half step back. 

Boba meets his eyes. “I like to know what I’m getting into.”

Sinjir almost chokes on a laugh. There’s the tiniest twitch of an eyebrow to let him know that Boba knows exactly what he said. “Me, I hope.”

There’s a choked noise like a laugh before Boba can cut it off and return to his emotionless resting face. Sinjir smiles. Boba scrubs a hand across his face and taps his finger on the bar, in something like nervousness. 

Then he smiles. It’s not wide, but it’s clear and it’s real, and Sinjir finds it hard to breathe for just a second. He can tell this man doesn’t grant anyone a smile very often, and this feels all the more valuable for it. 

He stands, and he’s maybe an inch or two shorter than Sinjir, though he takes up enough space for it not be noticeable. He keeps his eyes on Sinjir as he reaches into his pocket and throws a few credits on the table. Sinjir spares them a glance and almost bites his tongue. Acquisitions must be a pretty profitable business. 

He waves at the bartender, who grunts in response. Fantastic service here. 

“That should settle his tab too,” Boba says, with a motion towards Sinjir. 

Sinjir knocks his the back of his knuckles against the outside of Boba’s thigh, in a maybe a little bit to familiar teasing motion. “What a gentleman.”

“I try.” His eyes flicker over Sinjir’s face, and he exhales slowly. “I’ve got a ship.”

“Wow, paying for my drinks, taking me to your ship. I’m a real lucky guy tonight,” Sinjir says, tongue between his teeth. 

“If you don’t like it,” Boba says, trailing off, and while the words don’t scream confidence, his voice doesn’t falter. 

“Oh, no, I like it.” he pauses. “I really, really, like it.” 

The bartender drops a glass, and whatever moment they were experiencing is cut short. 

“We should-” Boba starts, pulling backwards towards the door. 

“Go, yeah, that sounds good,” Sinjir follows close after. “Sounds really good.”

 

===

 

It’s dark outside, cold enough their breath fogs in the air and cold enough to give Sinjir a good excuse to get closer to Boba. He presses closer so they’re bumping shoulders as they walk. Boba raises an eyebrow and takes his hand, wrapping their fingers together. Sinjir squeezes tighter as Boba drags him down towards the docking bays. 

It doesn’t take long for them to reach his ship, a strange looking thing, definitely not Imperial, certainly a personal vehicle. 

Boba slaps a hand against the side, likely hitting some kind of button, though Sinjir isn’t paying enough attention to see what, and the boarding ramp comes down, opening the belly of the craft to them. 

The ship is relatively dark when they enter, stumbling up the ramp. There’s a box of something in the walkway, green metal, and Boba kicks it out of the way, under one of the beds. Sinjir pushes him forward, and despite the fact that Boba is almost definitely stronger than him, he lets him. He gets him all the way up against the bulkhead, then moves his hands to the man’s arms. Boba’s hands fall to Sinjir’s hips. His breath is warm against Sinjir’s face. 

He leans forward, and gently presses his lips to Boba’s. He knows Boba is smiling, and just second later, he kisses back, harder, only stopping when he’s got Sinjir’s lower lip in his teeth. And Sinjir thinks, alright, good. 

He pulls back just a little taking a quick breath, and pressing his face to the meeting of neck and shoulder, pulling on his shirt so he can kiss along his collarbone. Boba runs his hands up Sinjir’s sides, one under his shirt, the other moving faster, yanking his coat off and letting it fall to the floor. 

The air of the ship is cold on his arms, but that’s not the source of the goosebumps running up his back. He bites, nipping at Boba’s neck, and his hands tense, fingernails clawing, one on Sinjir’s shoulder, one against his stomach. 

Boba removes the hand from his shoulder and grabs his face, pulling it down into another kiss. Sinjir takes the moment to get his hands under Boba’s shirt, against warm, hard muscle, shivering just slightly. When they break, he can feel every shaking breath running through his chest. 

“Good?” Boba asks.

“Oh, yeah.” 

Sinjir focuses on Boba’s shirt, working it up and over his head. The dim lighting doesn’t do him justice, but Sinjir gives himself a few seconds to just admire it. He traces his hands down one side. Knife wound, poorly closed. A finger presses just above his hip. Blaster burn from a low powered pistol. He traces his left shoulder down onto the front of his chest, acid burn, never grafted. It just misses the nipple, which Sinjir rubs his thumb over, enjoying Boba’s shiver.

He’s beautiful. 

Sinjir kisses him again, pressing his shoulders back against the bulkhead, as Boba’s hands work on Sinjir’s clothes, forcing him to pull back so his shirt can be removed. He runs the back of his hand down Sinjir’s chest, and he leans in closer so there’s barely any space between them, head resting on his shoulder. 

A hand down his pants breaks that moment, fumbling with the buttons, and Sinjir’s cock stiffens. He shudders, exhaling slowly. Boba’s fingers manage to get the buttons undone and they reach the base of his cock, the other hand shoving Sinjir’s underwear down. 

His hand wraps around his length and draw upward, stroking, growing slick with precome, moving faster and faster with just the barest touch of fingernails. His other hand comes to cup his balls, gently squeezing, and his mouth finds Sinjir’s neck biting all the way down. Sinjir doesn’t know what to focus on, the sharp teeth on his neck, the hand on his cock, with its warm pressure, and his hips jerk forward.

He falls towards Boba, his legs weakening, most of his weight resting against his shoulder, with Sinjir’s hand resting against the bulge in Boba’s pants. Boba kisses his cheek, thumb rubbing the head of his cock, and then all of the sudden he stops. The sudden lack of sensation burns, and Sinjir whines, mind not quite there enough but aware enough to think the word ‘torture’.

He moves towards Sinjir, forcing him backwards until their positions are reversed, Sinjir’s back pressed against the opposite wall, Boba holding him there, then he sinks to his knees, and all Sinjir can think is “Oh,” before lips touch the head of his cock. 

His hands find the back of Boba’s head and dig into his hair pressing against his skull, and his hips stutter forward. Warm, wet heat wraps around his whole length, taking him deeper and deeper. His tongue runs along the underside of his cock, with just a touch of teeth along the top. 

“I-” he gasps, and Boba slowly pulls away, taking time dragging his tongue along the veins of Sinjir’s length. Fingers find his cock again, points of pressure. He comes, falling forward, hand bracing himself on Boba’s shoulder, mind buzzing, muscles going weak and sucking in air like he’s drowning. 

“Wow.” he sucks in another deep breath. “Yeah, good,” he says, after he can manage to process language again. There’s come on the both of them, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

Sinjir gives himself a few more seconds to compose himself, breaths still coming just a little bit too fast, before he shoves and an entirely too satisfied looking Boba to the ground, kneeling over top of him. He braces one hand on the ground next to Boba’s face, sinking down to kiss him, while the other undoes his pants to get a hand on his cock.

He palms Boba’s cock, stroking up and down, while kissing down the man’s chest, tongue dragging along the burn scar on his shoulder, free hand wrapping around under Boba’s cupping the small of his back. His nails drag against Boba’s back as he continues to run his hand down his length, dragging and pulling. 

Boba’s eyes roll backwards, and he jerks upwards into Sinjir’s hand, tongue caught between his teeth. 

“Come on-” he pants, one hand grabbing Sinjir’s wrist, and the other his shoulder. He tugs Sinjir in closer and kisses him, his hand clawed at the base of Sinjir’s skull. 

“Getting there,” Sinjir whispers in his ear, biting at his earlobe. The hand around Boba’s cock squeeze tighter and pauses in its frantic back and forth. Boba’s eyes shudder closed. “Getting there.” 

Boba whines ever so slightly, just quietly enough that Sinjir decides he won’t bring it up tomorrow. He resumes his pace, as Boba’s hips twitch with need. Boba’s head turns to the side, muscles in his neck tightening, and his eyes squeeze shut, and Sinjir drags his nails down his length in the barest hint of touch. 

Boba reaches orgasm, grip on Sinjir going weak, hips shifting upwards and spilling on the both of them. Sinjir lets him ride it out before kissing his cheek and working his way slowly towards his mouth. 

After a few moments Boba returns the kiss, and Sinjir only breaks away to let himself fall to the ground, lying next to Boba on the floor of the ship.

There’s many minutes of peaceful silence, simply the hum of the ship around them and noises from outside Sinjir didn’t notice while wrapped up in Boba. He rests his head against the wall. His eyes half close. “So, where do you work?” 

“Small talk?” Boba huffs a little, like a small laugh. 

“Just trying to get to know you.” 

Sinjir can feel his shrug. “I’ve been all over.” 

“Anywhere nice?” 

“Sure, some of them.” Sinjir’s been all over too, exclusively for work, but he can’t think of a single place he’s seen that he’d term nice. Maybe he should request a transfer. Acquisitions seems nice. It's got some nice people, at least. 

“Tell me about it?” 

“Mhmm,” he shifts, getting an arm around Sinjir and begins to talk, slow and quiet.

 

===

 

Waking up is easy, though he thinks his back will make him regret sleeping on the floor of a ship for the next few weeks. He untangles himself from Boba’s limbs, watching him open his eyes. 

“You leaving?” he asks as Sinjir stands. 

“Yeah.” 

Boba nods and sits up. He reaches a hand for Sinjir’s in an aborted gesture that seems uncharacteristically touchy. Though, he supposes they were plenty touchy last night, and he doesn’t really know what’s uncharacteristic of Boba. 

“See you again?” he says, the words both a statement and a question. 

Sinjir slips his shirt on in an effort to give him more time with the question. “I’m not a good person to know.” he says finally. 

“Neither am I.” Boba simply meets his eyes, calm, unblinking, unwavering. He doesn’t get it. 

“I bet you I’m worse.” 

“That’s not really something we can measure.” 

Sinjir takes Boba’s hand and curls their fingers together. “You don’t know me.” 

“True.” 

He grabs the jacket from the floor before Sinjir can reach it and digs around in the pocket, pulling out Sinjir’s comm. He fiddles with it for a minute, probably putting in his information. He stops, and hands it back, arms stretching up towards Sinjir, who takes it wordlessly. 

“But you should call me. If that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Sinjir closes his fingers around the comlink and rests his forehead against Boba’s. He lets himself take one last kiss, this one slow and gentle, before he stands and leaves. 


End file.
